I never liked this apple much. [open-ish]

[yayashton]

WHO: Ryan and Trowa. You can crash into Ryan for beautiful cr if you want, though. I don't mind.
WHERE: A park. That is probably central.
WHEN: EARLY MORNING. As in somewhere around 7 or 8.
WARNINGS: Pretentious dance terminology!
SUMMARY: Ryan does interpretive dance in the park. Trowa creepers on him. They smash together and create beautiful cr.

Comments

[unnamed_nothing]

It reminded him something of the tumblers for the circus--but rougher, and... stronger, somehow, not just a simple series of choreographed twists and flips. The turns looked as though they might have been ready to approach a frantic pace for just a moment, although they didn't get quite as fast as he'd expected; he couldn't help himself getting back up on his feet and padding forward a few steps to see better.

Then Ryan glanced his way, and he briefly thought that he might have been seen, immediately crouching back down once more.

Trowa waited like that, catching more glimpses between the leaves, and found himself wondering in his silence what it would be like to try the movements himself. There was a familiar feeling clawing its way up his spine, the same one that he always got shortly before giving in and leaving himself behind for the flute he owned, playing it until his lungs ached and his fingers hurt, and it was driving him to distraction.

This was--it was like that, in a way. This was the stranger speaking to a crowd of nothing.

But what the hell was he saying?

[yayashton]

"I want to dance forever. I want to get up right now, in this spot, and dance - even though people may not be watching - and do the same thing every morning for the rest of my life."

The words Ryan was saying didn't match the words coming out of the stereo as he cycled through demi pliés in the first four positions before letting the music fade out early, still doing a basic ballet warm-up.

"But if there were an audience," Ryan said, as he switched into doing tendus, "I wouldn't mind. They could even come talk to me, if they wanted to."

[unnamed_nothing]

Time had not yet managed to pass by in any great stretch before Trowa realized that the young man was speaking to him, in a roundabout way; he had to be, given that the only other person he could smell in the vicinity was a young woman walking her dog about fifty yards in the opposite direction, and he sincerely doubted that Ryan would be addressing her. Not to mention that it seemed as though he'd gotten an audible answer to a question he hadn't actually asked aloud, which did happen to him an awful lot what with the company he chose to keep.

It was no use hiding. He'd been caught out, somehow.

Two steps forward before reminding himself that he didn't need to terrorize the unexpected dancer, and then he was back to himself, blue-green cotton and grey denim taking the place of another creature's skin.

Trowa slowly came out from around the hedges, both hands held up with the palms out in a gesture meant to imply that he intended no harm. He didn't say anything, though, waiting.

[yayashton]

The stereo began to play something else. He supposed that he really should buy an actual stereo instead of abusing his powers and telling the thing to play "something suitable." It would have less of a mind of its own, in any case - not that he minded what it played most of the time, but sometimes it attempted to send him messages and he wasn't quite sure what it had intended to tell him. He suspected it was doing so at the moment, because that was not appropriate warm-up music. Ryan stopped and looked over at the person who had come out from the hedges.

"I wouldn't have done that, if your music had sounded evil. Besides," Ryan said with a smile, "if you do try to hurt me, I can drop a car on you."

It was probably an unnervingly cheerful threat, but true nonetheless. Not that Ryan would, but it sounded better than "I'm going to throw scissors at you."

whee redundancy /edits

[unnamed_nothing]

He lived and worked with the other Wingboys on a daily basis; listening to unnervingly cheerful threats was practically a constant routine for him--especially where the braided pilot was concerned. Still, it surprised him a little to hear such a violent thing coming from someone who was listening to decidedly easy music, his eyes widening just a touch.

Trowa gave a soft hm of amusement, one corner of his mouth quirking up slightly and his arms moving to rest folded over his chest instead.

"My music?"

How odd. He didn't have anything playing--not that he could hear. Some remnant of Soundwave...?

[yayashton]

"Mmm. Some people read energy or scents, I read music." Ryan rolled his shoulders back, "I could explain it further, but it's kind of complicated."

Without much thought, Ryan slid into center splits and leaned forward so his nose was almost touching the grass. It was probably not the most ideal position to hold a conversation in, but holding a conversation while doing a warm-up was probably a stupid idea in the first place. Ryan sat back up, pulling his legs back together to do butterfly stretches.

"So, what brings you out here so early?"